let the game commence
by MuslimBarbie
Summary: She was bound to rub off on him. - Canon compliant Eleven/Amy


Word Count: 1233

Inspiration: _My Same_ by Adele.

Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.

**Happy 11/11/11.** Have an Eleven era fic.

* * *

It's Amy who restarts the universe. At least that's what the Doctor tells her–everything that ever was and everything that ever will be her comes straight out of her memory. Well, except for the parts she doesn't know, which is pretty much everything. He helped out with those bits. So really, it's him who does it, not her.

But that doesn't mean she's daft. Okay, yeah, she isn't some sort of genius nine hundred year old time travelling alien or whatever, but that doesn't make her an idiot. What she does know, she knows – Post-Impressionist art, Roman history, World War II events – the list goes on. She may not have all the knowledge of time and space, but Amy Pond does know a thing or two.

Besides, she's the one who brought the Doctor back and _that_ has to count for something, yeah?

**.**

Let's get one thing straight right now: she didn't _intend_ to change the Doctor. Really, she didn't. Besides, what did the universe expect when they drew him out of Amy Pond's mind? Come _on_, it had to know there would be side effects. She was bound to rub off on him.

It isn't anything stupid or ridiculous. He doesn't suddenly have ginger hair or a Scottish accent; he doesn't develop a sudden interest in miniskirts or even lose the damned bowtie. He's still mostly the same bumbling idiot that crashed into her garden when she was seven. No, no. What he picks up from her, the thing she gives him, is a bit more subtle than that; it's a bit trickier. And a lot more dangerous.

You see, her Doctor learns how to flirt.

**.**

It doesn't take her long to notice. Subtlety's never really been his thing and the idiot flirts with everyone–the duchess of Space Ireland, the blue people of Mavi, the future king of Germany. Hell, sometimes she even thinks he's flirting with _Rory_! No one is safe. He parades around as if no one can resist–as if the moron was the one who invented flirting–as if it's just one more stupid thing he's the bloody _best_ at.

Amy just watches him with a smirk.

Challenge accepted.

**.**

It becomes a game they play, one to see who will be the first to crack–to see who will cross the invisible (but still very _there_) line first. One she quickly finds herself becoming dangerously addicted to.

Their game isn't about the hot and the heavy–there are no secret shags in the in the swimming pool, no snogs in the shrubbery, not even a single kiss below the console. In fact, they do everything they can to make sure his lips stay as far away from her mouth as possible. He's still the Doctor and she's still Amy Pond, after all. Besides, Rory's still there too.

No, their game is much subtler than that. It's more dangerous. Their game relies on the look in the Doctor's eyes, the curve of Amy's smirk. It's about the way his hands brush against her hair, the way her shoulder bumps against his. How his mouth dances around her name, how she purrs his back. Theirs is a game of the moments no one else notices. And it might be the most dangerous game she's ever played. And she knows she should probably walk away, that she should probably stop.

But she doesn't.

She doesn't _want_ to.

**.**

Everything changes when Rory catches them.

Well, catches them as much as he can. All he really does is find them talking in the library. She's only sitting on the edge of a table and the Doctor's standing in front of a bookshelf, explaining some spacey-wacey mumbo-jumbo. Except one of her legs is crossed over the other, her skirt is ridden up, and she watches him through smug eyes; his jacket is tossed off, his sleeves are rolled up, and he speaks through a smirk.

Amy doesn't hear exactly what Rory says, but she does catch the look on his face–all of the hurt, the jealousy, the frustration–before he storms out. She glances at the Doctor for a split of a second and a silent understanding passes between them. He nods softly and she gives him a small, forced smile before she goes after Rory and he goes to the main control room.

The evening, the Doctor drops them back off at Leadworth with the promise that he'll be in touch.

**.**

Two months. Two insanely long months (which she knows are really nothing) pass in silence. No visit, no call, _nothing_. It even gets to the point where she starts scanning through all her old history books to find a sign of him. It's just when she thinks she's about to go mad that the moron finally sends her a note. A single TARDIS blue letter–that's all it takes for her to run off to America.

"_Stalker." _

"_Flirt."_

And then, just like that, they fall back into their old habits. He grins and looks down at her through those stupid eyes; a smile tugs at her lips and her eyes linger on him for just a moment too long. It doesn't last more than a second–Rory's still there after all–but that's more an enough.

Amy laughs and follows him into the diner.

Because, you see, a second is all it takes.

**.**

"_I love you. I know you think it's him–I know, I know you think it _ought_ to be him. But it's not, it's you. My life was so _boring_ before you just… dropped out of the sky. So just get your stupid face where I can see it, okay? _Okay_?"_

**.**

Late that night, after Rory's fast asleep, Amy finds the Doctor standing alone by the TARDIS controls, her little red voice recorder in his hand. She smacks his arm and threatens to toss the stupid thing out. A small smile tugs at his lips but continues to stare down at it. After a moment he asks her that earlierwhen she said dropped out of the sky…?

She doesn't miss a beat and tells him that it was just a figure of speech. But his eyes catch hers and she wants to look away, but she _can't_. So she just stands there, her eyes locked on his stupid face. A slow smile tugs at his lips and he mumbles of course. She rolls her eyes and tells him to shut up. His grin only grows.

**.**

They toss the recorder out the TARDIS doors after that; they laugh and watch the little red light float through space. After they close the doors, he kisses her on the head. His hands brush against her hair gently and her shoulder bumps against his as she walks past him. And she knows that this should be the end, because they can't keep doing this. They've played this game for too long–they've gotten too close and it's just too bloody _dangerous_ now.

But the moment she reaches the top of the steps she spins around and tells him goodnight. She purrs his name at the end. He smirks and his mouth dances around her name when he bids her goodnight. Amy laughs and winks at him once before she turns and goes back to her room.

Their game is _far _from over.


End file.
